


Sweating Bullets

by MisterBroflovski



Category: Metallica
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Dirty Talk, Drama, Drunk Sex, Friendship, Jealousy, M/M, Manipulation, Multi, Rejection, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8313421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterBroflovski/pseuds/MisterBroflovski
Summary: Dave knew the sudden change in James' behavior was his fault. Even with the guilt he held on his shoulders of unintentionally hurting James, nothing felt as heavy as the rejection he faced from Lars and Cliff. James was balanced between opposing sides of a war.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on AO3. I apologize for the formatting issues, once I gain access to better equipment I will try my best to reformat this story. Thank you for your patience. I would like to add a Disclaimer stating that I do not own anything associated with Metallica or Megadeth, this story is purely fiction and meant for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> EDIT: Thanks to everyone who gave this story a chance. I don't know how many chapters I'm going to put out for this, but if you are a fan then I can promise at least a few more.

Lars Ulrich thrived off power as if it were a tangible object.  
He needed it, craved it. Power is what he desired and in his mind he couldn't survive without it. There was always something worth taking, and that talent of manipulation he kept would always help him. Sometimes, even the things he desired were abstract. Power, respect, love. All things that exist but are not there. It made Lars want them that much more. 

In short, Lars got essentially everything he wanted, and right then, he wanted Dave Mustaine out of his life. 

That would be so easy, if it hadn't been for the ring master, James Hetfield. Sometimes it seemed as though Dave and James were inseparable. Dave's bad attitude and cocky nature infected James; whenever they were together he acted just like him. It was sickening, Lars knew James was never like this until Dave waltzed into the picture. The strangest part was, James never did this to anyone else. He would not model his mannerisms after Lars, be it intentionally or not. Never around Cliff, only Dave. And, much to Lars' dismay, James didn't take after Dave's good side. His tender side. It went untouched by James; he only copied what no one wanted to see. 

Lars frowned, and pressed the bottle to his lips. 

Dave was sitting on the barstool next to James. He comfortably separated Dave and Lars, with Cliff close to the last. 

Unfortunately, this caused two different conversations to happen at once. Lars leaned closer to Cliff in his barstool. "Look at these fuckin' homos." Cliff giggled, his back rising with the breath. "Oh please, like you and James aren't the same way." Lars shook his head. "Not like...like that." 

Dave and James were engaged in conversation about the couple eyeing them from one table over. A girl, fair skinned and busty, accompanied by a man more bulky than Dave and James together. "Why's that asshole staring at us?" James wondered, nudging Dave with his elbow and motioning to the table. Dave turned around, and quickly whipped his face back toward James, soon as he caught sight. "Oh, I may or may not have groped her on the way in." Dave said. James could already tell he was drunk. He spoke through his teeth usually, but it was amplified when he was drunk. He prayed that the guy at the table wouldn't approach them. Prayed. 

The woman pointed a finger at Dave, and her accomplice threw himself out of the chair, violently. 

James sighed and covered his face. 

The man approached Dave and planted his hands on his shoulders, throwing him back against James. Lars and Cliff went silent when they heard the barstools shift. They immediately diverted their attention to the altercation to their left. As Dave recollected himself, he kicked the other man in the knee, and stumbled off the barstool. 

"What the fuck is your problem?" Dave exclaimed, a slight curve to his posture and a tired look on his face illustrated that he was deep into the four bottles he'd pumped into himself over the past few hours. The other man was drunk too, drunk enough to pick a fight. 

"Who the hell do you think you are, touching up on my girl like that?" The man yelled, pushing Dave once more, but this time a certain isostasy within him balanced him back to his feet. 

Dave took the first swing, his fist smashed into the side of his skull. They began to tear and rip at one another, and after a few seconds, the bar filled with onlookers applauded the situation. All but James, Lars and Cliff were cheering them on. James rose to his feet, almost slipping with his haste, to run into the dust cloud, but Cliff grabbed the clothes on his back and kept him in place. When James spat questions, Cliff only said, "Don't touch him."

Dave pushed the man over a table, causing him to lose the balance and topple into the ground, holding his hip where the table jabbed him. This only lasted for a moment, however, as Dave swiftly straddled over him and gripped his throat with both hands, picking up his head only to bash it back into the ground. The man made a pained groan, and rose his hands up to take at Dave's face. Dave's name was screamed by one of his three peers, which he did not know, but it was angry. The tone annoyed Dave, only causing him to land a rough punch to his jaw. Unfortunately to Dave's dismay, the man beneath him returned the favor, and his head threw to the side, taking a massive wave of red gold locks with it. With a grunt and a dilation of his pupils, Dave began to throw punch after punch at the man's face until his knuckles were covered in blood. 

It was just about to get good when suddenly, a pair of arms latched onto Dave's torso, under his own arms, and tried to pull him off. 

"The bartender," Dave thought, "The fucking bartender." 

The red blonde grunted, kicking around as the person behind him pulled at him. He landed a few good kicks to the man under him, who was now fleeing, but that wasn't his concern. He wanted to snuff the dickhead trying to pry him away. Mustaine threw a rough hand behind him, hard, and got the man behind him in the nose, and the lip with his ring. 

"Fuck!"

The hands let go, and the man behind him collapsed to the ground. Dave froze. The voice. On his knees, Dave turned around, slowly, to see none other than James on the floor, holding his mouth. There was blood on his jaw and hand, all must have come from his mouth and nose. Cliff and Lars kneeled beside him. 

Dave scrambled to James as well, repeating "no, no, no" several times over. James groaned, sitting up. He, momentarily, moved his hand away from his mouth to get to his feet. Dave saw all the blood. He'd nicked his lip with his ring, and the back of his knuckles smashed into his nose. 

"James, I..."

"Shut it, Mustaine." Lars interrupted. 

Dave sobered up just from seeing all that blood on James' porcelain face. Usually unperturbed, he injured him. While Dave wasn't the type to turn down a fight, he was extremely tender and sensitive when it came to his band, and he would destroy anyone who hurt them.

But, now it was Dave that hurt James. 

He would just destroy his liver, he supposed. 

\-----------------------------------

James had his head tilted back as he walked to the bar, with his nose pinched. Cliff had a hand on James' back, as did Lars, only a few inches under Cliff's. 

Dave stayed behind, fearing coming too close. 

The bartender gave James a wad of tissues as they walked out the door. Dave still lagged. He was let off easy with only a warning from the bartender. 

"He's not going to press charges or get the police involved. Consider yourself lucky, scumbag, I wouldn'ta let you walk outta here."

Dave finally escaped with not much more than a bruised jaw and bloodied scratches, at least that was what had, thus far, shown color. He left his last shred of confidence at the door. As they got back to Lars' hotel room, no one uttered a word. James sat on the bed with a handful of bloody tissues and flakes of dried blood all over the lower half of his face. Some was still wet, and every time he awkwardly touched his face, he would smear it. 

Lars and Cliff went out for ice, making sure to give Dave a cold stare on the way out. The door was shut, and only Dave and James now sat in the hotel room. It was silent besides their breathing, and James' thumbs nervously fraying a tissue. 

"James, I am so, so sorry." Dave said, even in the muffled quiet of his voice, between the silence it sounded like a siren. James didn't answer, he only scratched flakes of blood off his face and further smeared still-drying blood. Dave took this as an opportunity to show his remorse. He walked into the bathroom and wet a washcloth. The sound of the sink drew James' attention, and he looked up, only to look away once more when Dave reemerged. The bed sank as Dave sat beside him; their legs touched. James' hands began to shake around the tissue. "James." Dave's voice was rough. James didn't look up. 

"Look at me."

He sounded almost parental with his last words. James finally looked at Dave, and his hair hid most of the blood, not to mention his eyes. Dave moved James' hair away, holding his in place behind his ear. His other hand held the wet cloth. He pressed it against his chin; it was warm. James closed his eyes. As he wiped the dried blood away, Dave examined him. 

Gentle, sandy eyelashes, upturned nose, soft thin lips and heavy masculine structure. 

He broke that undisturbed fragility. All of James was pale, his hair, skin and eyes, the dark blood in contrast was something Dave hated to see. 

"I am so sorry." Dave hardly moved his face as he spoke. He felt truly awful. 

James shook his head. Dave couldn't tell if it was a head-shake that said, "Don't apologize", or "I don't forgive you." He didn't want to know. This was peaceful, Dave's hands on James' face. 

But nothing like what caused this. 

On the contrary to Dave, James was still deeply drunk. The injury wasn't quite enough to sober him up. He had nearly dozed off until he felt contact against his forehead, a hand resting on the back of his neck and another on his cheek, fingers on his jaw. There was warmth radiating onto his face, and he was unsure of where he was until Dave spoke. 

"Please say something." The voice coming to him was extremely close. 

It was uncomfortably anxious. Their foreheads were together, and that's when James saw the tender being that lived beneath Dave Mustaine's hard, impenetrable shell. 

James moved his limp arms up from his sides and placed his hands over Dave's. 

"Don't be an asshole." James said. His voice was noticeably sluggish. Whenever Dave smiled, his whole face shifted. James could feel his smile. 

The door opened with an alarming squeak. Both James and Dave retracted their hands quickly and pretending to be stretching. 

Lars and Cliff came back with a plastic bag filled with ice, and, unsurprisingly, a case of beer. While both James and Dave were thankful, beer was the last thing either of them needed. However, that wasn't about to stop them. Lars handed James the bag, but his eyes didn't leave Dave. He was sitting next to James, the same man he'd just nailed in the face less than half an hour prior. He gave Dave somewhat of a harsh look, and said, "'fuck are you trying to do now, Mustaine?" Dave didn't return Lars' look, like he'd expected him too. The look softened. "Help." Was all Dave said before standing from the bed, and walking toward the door. "Goodnight, James." He said, taking a moment with his hand on the doorway to look back at him. James didn't say anything. He watched him leave, and his stomach tied in knots. 

Lars shut the door behind Dave and made sure to lock it. This was Lars' hotel room, but he expected James to stay in there, just for the night. Cliff would leave, for sure. But considering how silent James was being, he probably wasn't going anywhere. While Cliff was preoccupied with the TV, Lars took Dave's spot on the bed next to James. 

"What'd he do?" Lars said, as he hunched over and rested his elbows on his knees. He tried to look past James' hair, but he still couldn't see his face. In silence, James picked up the heavy, stained washcloth and displayed it for Lars. "He just wiped off all the blood."

"What's he think, you're not capable of doing that yourself?"

"He was just helping."

"Why are you defending him?"

Lars' voice always made him sound sick; that nasally, immature voice. Usually it didn't bother James any, but now it was really pissing him off. That look on his face, like he was suspecting something, didn't help, either. 

"Because it was an accident, Lars. I was trying to get him off of the guy and he didn't know it was me. You know Dave--we know Dave. He wouldn't hurt us. He broke a guy's leg for you. He's not planning on hurting us any time soon."

"He's a fuckin' psychopath. There was no reason to fuckin' break that guy's leg, you know?"

The room was quiet. Both James and Cliff were waiting for Lars to say something else. 

"I don't know about letting this go so easy. I mean like, you're fine, but what if it gets worse from here, you know?"

Lars sat up straight, and moved his hands wildly as he spoke. Whenever he went quiet, he would nervously touch his lips, out of habit. He took his tone down before talking again. 

"Look. All I'm saying is like, we need to fix this. We can't just like...let him think it's okay to beat the shit out of his band. At least let me talk to him, or one of you needs to."

James nodded, and Cliff didn't even look at Lars until he was indirectly addressed. He nodded too. 

Lars got up from the bed and got comfortable in the one other empty one. All three of them had somehow escaped the tension in the room as soon as the lights went off and the TV went on. The case of beer was torn open, and the trio didn't go easy on it. In addition to however many beers they'd had earlier that night at the bar (James-4, Lars-3, Cliff-3), they were all granted two more. 

Finally at around 2 A.M., Cliff decided it was time for him to retire to his own room. After Cliff left and shut the door, the room was lit only by the lamp on the table that separated the two beds. James was sitting against the headboard, and hadn't moved in a couple hours other than to take off his pants and grab another beer. He sat in a tank top and boxers, feeling a bit exposed. Lars was already naked and under the covers, barely awake enough to find the knob on the lamp to shut it off. 

"Goodnight James." He said, his voice muffled by the blankets. Lars was asleep in less than five minutes, and James still sat, completely awake, against the headboard. Except now it was pitch black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slash Warning. (Mustaine/Hetfield)

James sat there until about half past 2 o'clock. To occupy this time, he sang, very quietly. Misfits songs. A couple times Lars stirred in his sleep, but never fully woke. James wasn't going to sleep tonight, at least not any time soon. He had this awful drowsy feeling, but he didn't want to sleep. He was sure that if he laid down, he would lull instantly. So, when the clock finally struck 2:30 A.M., he rose from the bed and quietly crept toward the door, still in nothing but his boxers and tee. He put his hand around the the doorknob and remembered the dreadful squeak it made when Lars and Cliff came back with the ice. He stopped his hand before it pulled the door open, and very slowly made a crack big enough to fit through. The squeak was still there, but not nearly as loud. Lars didn't wake. James was free. 

He shut the door behind him as carefully as he'd opened it, and snuck into the hallway in the direction of Dave's room. Dave would still be awake, right? This was the right room, right? He swallowed. If the door he just knocked on was Cliff's, how was he supposed to play that off? Tell him he had a nightmare and couldn't sleep? Tell him the truth, that he was sneaking away from Lars to be around Dave?

Wait, why was he doing this in the first place? 

He felt like he was supposed to be mad at Dave. He did punch him, after all. Why was he sneaking away from Lars to be with Dave? What if Dave wasn't even awake and he was just standing outside of the rooms in his underwear like an idiot?

Before his whole thought could wrap up, the door opened. James jumped a little bit. Dave was on the other side, looking both tired and confused. The TV was still on, but the bed was disheveled, the lights were off, and Dave was in his shirt and underwear. He'd probably been half asleep when James knocked on the door. A tinge of guilt grew in his gut. 

"James?" Dave slurred, rubbing his eye with one hand and holding the door open with the other. It seemed like Dave had gotten a few more drinks into himself as well in the early hours. "Can I come in?" In contrast, James sounded much more awake. Sure, he was still buzzed and exhausted, but it didn't show nearly as much as it did on Dave. 

Dave nodded, and moved out of the way for James to come in. He shut the door, half-heartedly. James noticed the empty Heineken bottles surrounding the bed and the bedside table. There was two empty ones. This was in addition to what he drank at the bar. James was sure he had already thrown up half of it, if not more. I'm going to have to keep an eye on him all night, he thought, wincing at the amount of alcohol that ran through Dave's blood. "Are you...okay?" James said, quietly. Dave laughed. "Fine. Why? The beer? It's not as much as it looks like." He insisted upon this, and crawled back into bed. He didn't pull the covers over himself though, he just sat against the headboard, like James, and focused on the TV. 

"I'm gonna stay in here for a while...and make sure you don't fucking...choke or something." 

James was about to sit on the other bed, until Dave threw himself out of his own and bolted, nearly slipping on the carpet. He made it to the bathroom just in time before he vomited, the second time that night. 

"That's exactly what I mean, Dave!" James yelled. He walked into the bathroom as well and turned the light on, then sat on the edge of the bathtub and grabbed a handful of Dave's hair, holding it away from his face, which was buried in the toilet. 

"Jesus Christ, six goddamn beers Dave? You were going to drink another one before I got in here I bet."

Of course, he didn't respond. 

"'It's not as much as it looks like'." James mocked. Dave moved one of his hands from the side of toilet and gave James a middle finger. "At least it wasn't Lars. He would've let you choke on your own puke. He's pissed at you, you know. 'He's a fucking psychopath'," James mocked Lars' voice as well. "Honestly, if you were somehow able to stuff that many beers into you without going into shock and dying, you must be a fuckin' psychopath."

"Shut up, James." Dave's voice came out as a gasp. 

"You done?" James didn't let go of Dave's hair, yet. Just in case. "Yeah, I'm done. Gi'mme a minute." 

James finally let go and excused himself from the bathroom. It was shut immediately after he stepped foot out, too. He sat on the undisturbed bed and tried to make sense of whatever Dave was watching on the TV. It was badly written and cheesy from what he could tell so far, so, it was probably going to end up being porn. That was until he saw the tiny MTV logo at the bottom. James had to admit, he was a bit disappointed. But porn isn't something you sit and watch with your lead guitarist. 

He heard the sink run for almost a full three minutes, and the toilet flush. 

Dave walked out of the bathroom some time later with a brand new look on his face. He'd definitely woken up a bit. 

"You okay?" James wondered, sitting up, and changing his posture to what definitely looked more concerned. Dave nodded. There was color back in his cheeks and lips, but his eyes were still half lidded, and tired. He didn't escape the bar scuffle unscathed, and with what looked like a freshly washed face, the bruises were much more noticeable. There was a darkening blue bruise under his left eye, and a yellow one against his cheek bone. Certain areas of his face were red and irritated, and the corner of his mouth seemed to be the smallest bit swollen. It looked like it had been almost split, but he had already tended to it. Dave rubbed his face, and leaned against the doorframe. "'M tired. Scoot."

James laughed. "Scoot? You have your own bed, dumbass." Of course, arguing with a drunk Dave Mustaine was futile. He kneeled onto the bed and crawled into his spot, pushing James. Dave's hands were freezing. "What are you doing?" James said, a laugh causing inconsistency in his tone. Dave smelled overwhelmingly of mint; he'd probably brushed his teeth two or three times. "Watching TV. What are you doing?" Dave said, completely undisturbed by the situation. It felt normal for him, James and Dave were close. But the alcohol flowing through his veins contorted his view on the relationship, and showed him options that he would otherwise not consider. His lack of inhibition was somewhat worrisome on James' mind. 

James was about to move to the other bed, until his wrist was grabbed. "Don't leave." Dave groused. 

"I was just going to go to the other bed," Dave tugged on his wrist. 

With an exasperated sigh, James climbed back into the bed, next to Dave. They sat in a comfortable quiet for a while, watching the tv. Late night television wasn't the best; they'd got stuck watching a special on a fresh MTV, with the occasional 'breakthrough' music video during the commercial breaks. Most of those music videos were Rod Stewart and Pat Benatar, so naturally, Dave could only handle so much before he had to speak again. 

"Does Lars hate me, James?"

James was a bit stunned by hearing Dave speak so suddenly. He sounded apprehensive about the answer. "Why? Because he's mad?"

"He's always mad at me, about something, anything he can find to be mad at me about." Dave was looking at James now, but James didn't keep constant eye contact. He would look at Dave, then at the TV. Dave's heart began to sink. 

"That's just the way he is, he likes to complain. He likes that attention." James wasn't looking at Dave at all now. He might not have noticed, but Dave did. "Why does it have to be me?" He wondered. He was starting to go off the deep end, it was nearing that point in the night. "You give him a reaction, Dave. If you don't react he'll stop." James reasoned. "So it's my fault?"

"What? I didn't say that, I was just saying-"

"He does it because he fucking hates me and so do you. You and Lars and Cliff all fucking hate me."

"No one hates you, Dave," James sat up straighter and shifted to face Dave. Dave did the same, but he looked crushed. "Yes you do, you do hate me. If you want to fucking go then go, I'll choke on my own vomit in my sleep and die and none of you would care. It wouldn't even matter, the band already has you, what the fuck do you need me for?" Dave began to ramble, his voice got shakier and shakier with each word. He sounded almost like he was about to cry, but his sheathed pride prevented that from happening. James didn't say anything; the room was shrouded by Dave's unsteady breathing and Iron Maiden's self titled track for a few seconds before Dave continued. 

"Why won't you fucking say something? You're not making me think any different, I know you don't want or need me here, I honestly don't understand why Lars doesn't just fuckin' tell me to-"

And, without any warning, James made an unpremeditated act toward Dave. He launched himself forward and seated his hands against the sides of Dave's face, then pulled him forward, and planted an impetuous kiss on his mouth, which was still mid-word. 

Dave quickly shut up, and stiffened, stunned. It only lasted about three seconds until James realized what he was doing, and pushed Dave away from him. He covered his mouth and darted away his gaze. It took Dave a moment to recollect himself, he blinked a few times, trying to focus his eyes. He must have been pretty drunk if he thought James just kissed him without a camera or a girl around. 

"James, why-"

"Shut up Dave." 

"James-"

"I said shut up."

Dave did as he was told, even though there were about a million questions ricocheting around his head. A dreadful awkwardness bore itself into the two. 

"I'm sorry-..I just..wanted you to stop talking."

"Maybe I should keep talking then." 

James finally looked at Dave. "What?"

"I said..." 

Dave's whole face changed in seconds, from shock to smirk. He leaned close to James, closer than he would've liked, and said, "Maybe I should keep talking. My 'punishment' will just worse and worse, yeah?"

James was extremely unnerved by the dramatic vicissitude in Dave's mood. He leaned back when Dave leaned forward, and the hand that covered his mouth tensed so that even his tendons were visible. He refused to look at Dave, no matter how close he was getting. To break James' directionless train of thought, Dave tangled his hand into his hair and pulled his head so that they saw eye to eye. James winced. 

"Answer me James. What was that about? I'm sure there are plenty of ways to shut me up you're thinking of." James tried to shake his head and laugh it off, but Dave had a vice grip on his hair. "It was-..I wasn't thinking--....I'm sorry I did that just..let me go, Dave," He didn't listen, not like James expected him to. Instead, Dave yanked his hair again, and James suppressed a noise, shutting his eyes tight and pressing his lips together. 

"What's that? I can't hear you."

James laughed, nervously, with a hint of anger behind it. "This isn't funny Dave, I'm sorry I did that, okay?" 

Dave's grin appeared again, and suddenly James could hear his own heartbeat impel. Dave began to move away, however, that grip on James' hair never loosened. As the redhead rested himself against the headboard, he dragged James along with him. He now straddled Dave's hips, and his legs shook weakly as he held himself above any physical contact. 

Dave let go of his hair, but, James froze, and did not flee. Every nerve ending in his brain told him to get the fuck out, but his body didn't budge. Nor did his affixed eye contact with Dave. 

"You're shaking, James." And with that, James was now readily aware of every nerve in his body. He was shaking. He was also overly sensitive, even down to his calloused hands. Dave placed his own huge, bony hands on James' waist, and urged him to relax. He wasn't having any of it.

Dave looked James up and down, burning his body with his eyes before saying, "What are you so afraid of...?" James shook his head, and hid behind his hair. 

Dave drove his hips upward, and ground roughly against James. His blood began to boil, the feeling of it pumping through his very veins felt unbearably gratifying. But he didn't let that be known. No matter how badly he wanted to let a noise out, he choked it back. He didn't want this, he didn't, for sure. 

Dave did it again, slower. 

James hissed. 

"Making me stop so soon?" Dave's pressure on James' hips let up, but, to his surprise, James was the one who moved his hips down against Dave this time. Dave bit his lip and watched. 

"Shut up, Dave."

"Make me."

James stared down at Dave for only a second, his eyes half lidded, until he made his brainless decision. Once more, their lips crashed together, and Dave's hand was on the back of James' neck. He forced their bodies closer. The kiss was sloppy, just the way a drunk kiss should be. Neither of them were in sync, and neither of them could sync up. They both struggled against one another, giving back almost bruising kisses. Every few moments one of them would gasp for air, before the other would coerce their way back into the kiss. Still, Dave tasted like mint, the breathtaking taste of cleanliness. It mixed maladroitly with the heavy taste of alcohol on James' tongue, but neither seemed bothered by it. They still went after one another like horny teenagers, especially with James' hands finding their way to Dave's shirt, and tugging at the fabric until he was able to pull him closer. All the while, he was moving back and forth against the man underneath him. There was very little fabric separating the two, and the friction James was creating was positively maddening. They were both more than half hard, and oh, did it show. This far into the deal, neither one of them had made a sound, if you leave out the hard breathing. James was holding the noises in as much as he possibly could, and it was extremely difficult to rip a noise out of Dave. James was determined to hear something, anything from him. Dave's voice was so robust, and so unique, the noises he imagined were enough to send James into a tailspin. That noise. He would hear something. He took his turn to take the reigns. He moved his hand up to Dave's mass of hair, moving his fringe away to expose more of his face and pulled, but to his disappointment, no noises. While James felt more in control now, it was extremely short lived, as Dave pulled him back down. Hard. 

James' elbows were on either side of Dave's head as he pulled away and pressed their foreheads together. They breathed, heavily, against one another, temporarily stopping their hips from moving and hands from traveling. They were, once again, out of sync. Dave liked it better that way, anyway. He looked up at the man above him, into those eyes, beneath the gentle, sandy eyelashes. 

Striking blue eyes. Illuminated further by the lazy glow of the television. James was breathing hard, as was Dave. It was hot against their skin. In fact, the whole room was beginning to close in on them. Their bodies were both encased in a certain warmth, a warmth of embarrassment, but at the same time, primal desire. 

Although, of course, neither of them would ever admit that. 

Desire was a strong word. 

"What are..what are you doing?" James' voice was a whisper. Dave was so hexed by James' eyes that he hardly even noticed where his hands had traveled to. His fingers were dipping beneath the waist band of James' boxers, the stretch that hugged his hip bones. He had begun to tug them down before James panicked, and grabbed one of Dave's wrists, and pushed his hands away. "Wrong order, dumbass." 

James sat up straight and focused all of his weight against Dave's hips. A somewhat winded grunt forced its way out of Dave's throat. Both out of the fact that the flimsy layers of boxers separating them had seem to grown thinner with the heat, and the fact that James had quite literally gone dead-weight on his crotch. 

He soon forgot about the pain it left him in, though, because James' thin, sculpted arms crossed in front of his torso and his fingers crept under the fabric of his tank top. He pulled it over his head, painfully slow. Dave watched, almost enthralled, by the blurry image of James' perfectly pale torso being slowly revealed from under the shirt (which, he had not noticed, had been Dave's Venom shirt, only with the sleeves snipped away...). James' hair fell back onto his shoulders when the shirt came off. He tossed it onto the other bed. 

"I didn't wanna get your shirt dirty," 

Time seemed to stop, in that single moment of seeing James in nothing but his boxers straddling over him. 

Sure, he'd seen countless girls from this exact same angle, in this exact same position. But none had ever quite felt the same as this. 

Dave was convinced it was James' button nose. That poor, adorable button nose that Dave had injured earlier in the night. 

That groan that James worked out of Dave had replayed itself in his mind, again and again. He was shocked that he derived such a raunchy noise out of Dave, especially one that sounded exactly like his voice. Anyone would be able to tell that was him. James wanted to hear more of it. That wasn't enough. 

In all honesty, James had only asked about Dave's actions because he wasn't sure he was ready for this to progress any further. He already felt like he desperately needed a shower and an exorcism. But the more aroused they both got, the harder it was to stop. Dave was too drunk to think clearly. All he knew at the moment was that his dick was getting much needed attention, and it was from someone who he wanted to ravish as it was. 

Even with the smallest bit of alcohol left in his blood, James may have been willing to let said ravishing take place. Maybe. 

The two of them slowed down. James was still, atop Dave's lap. Dave sat up on his elbows. They looked at each other up and down, slowly, it was agonizing. Dave could see just how much James needed to be touched, and James could feel it. Dave reached an arm forward and dug his fingers under James' waistband once more, and looked up at him with huge eyes, asking for his permission. James looked at Dave's hands. They were strained in such a perfect way; he studied the veins that ran across and around his tendons, that made flawless curves around his knuckles. His eyes wandered from his hands, up his arms, across his chest, to his face...

The light from the tv once again acted as a beautiful filter. Dave's jaw was lit up like a lantern, and a shadow formed across his face from his nose. He looked, in short, extremely alluring. But James didn't want to think about that. 

He nodded. 

Dave bit his lip and pulled the cloth down. Just the sight of that made James begin to shake again. James shut his eyes, tight, and put his hands over his face. He felt himself become completely exposed, completely naked. Dave made a satisfied giggle. "Off, James." Dave sung these words, pulling at the boxers a bit rougher. James was shaking harder, as he shifted and did what he was told. As soon as he was naked, he scrambled across the bed, and sat with his legs together and his hands on his face. His hair helped to hide him as well, although it was extremely disheveled. "Oh, James. Look at you. Shaking in your boots..." James didn't see anything but the blackness his palms provided. He felt the bed shift under Dave's weight. 

A pair of hands fell onto his knees, and forced his legs apart. James grit his teeth. 

"See, there you go..."

James bit down on the side of his hand as soon as he felt feathery fingers trailing along every sensitive crease of his body. 

"Fuck, Dave..." 

James spoke through his teeth, and finally built up the selflessness to look at Dave. He moved his hair away from his face, and presented a sharp, determined look. 

Dave pushed James onto his back, and pinned his shoulders down. James let out a grunt of his own, and Dave's whole body met a spark of heat. 

"How far are we gonna go?" Dave wondered, a growling undertone in his voice. "Just say the word, and I'll fuck you into this mattress..." Dave put emphasis on 'fuck', and leaned closer to James as he said it. 

James couldn't choke down the moan that forced its way out of his chest. Just the words themselves...they both terrified and excited James. "Please don't tease me you've already...already gotten me this far...please, this isn't funny..." 

Dave dug his nails into James' shoulders, and James made that deep noise from his chest once more. 

"I like hearing you beg. Do it some more, maybe I'll help you out." 

James sucked in a huge breath, and held it. "Dave," 

"Yes?" Dave tapped his own ear, like he was expecting more. Dave was watching James, with predatory eyes. His hair hung down and made sure there was nowhere for James to look but up. So he closed his eyes, and said,

"Fucking hell, Dave, please...do something, anything. I don't-...I don't care anymore what you do to me, just do something..."

"Dave, please," Dave mocked James' voice as he let go of his shoulders, and sat up, doing the same James did earlier. He tore off his shirt as well, except it wasn't nearly as slow. He wanted it off, now. 

And soon, James found himself staring. He forced his eyes away. 

Dave grabbed James' face and pulled it forward again, so that James would look at him. 

"I've already gotten you hard, there's no point in pretending you don't like what you see anymore."

James was suddenly more comfortable with the whole predicament he'd gotten himself into. He remembered that drunk Dave was an asshole. He was being a bit of an asshole. 

He was doing this because he was drunk. James was sweetly reminded of that. But in some depth of his brain, it also hurt. Dave was only doing this because he was drunk. But also, Dave was only doing this because he was drunk! Nobody was going to know; James sure as hell wouldn't spill, and Dave probably wouldn't even remember seeing James on top of him in a bed at 5 in the morning--

James' breath hitched. How the fuck was it already 5?

"Dave I...I have to go." 

Dave gave James a face, a puzzled one. 

"Lars he...Lars gets up early..he's probably gonna be awake soon and notice I'm gone." 

"So? Tell him you went to your own room. I'm not done with you James, you're not getting out of here like that."

James thought for a second. He wanted this. He did. But he couldn't stay any longer, or Dave would be gone for sure. 

James sat up and placed one hand on the back of Dave's neck, and the other started trailing from the middle of Dave's chest, farther and farther down...

James planted one more kiss on Dave, but this time it was a lot like the drunk joke kisses they shared for the camera. Quick and soft. 

James' hand gently rubbed Dave through his boxers. James was granted a groan. 

"You're drunk, Dave. You need to sleep. If you still want this when you sober up, come find me on the bus tomorrow."

James grabbed his boxers and replaced them where they belonged. He excused himself from the bed and walked to the other to grab his shirt. Dave looked crushed, once again. 

"I do want this? Right now?" He groused. 

"Go to bed, asshole." James laughed, and quietly exited the room. 

"Goodnight Dave."

The door was shut, and Dave was alone once more, but with a boner now.

Dave got up from the bed and locked the door. Maybe James was right. If Lars woke up and noticed James was gone, there would probably be hell to pay. And there was no way Dave would be able to stay. 

He pulled off his own boxers and tossed them wherever he'd tossed his shirt. He got back into bed, ignoring the TV, and finished himself off. 

It wasn't very long until he finished, either. He was sure he had enough material for weeks knowing that James was the one who made the first move. There were plenty of way to shut him up, and he decided kissing him would be the best way. 

That gave Dave one hell of a confidence boost. 

\-----------------------------------

James was back where he started. In his shirt and boxers, making his way back to Lars' room. He was hard though, and his dick may or may not have been tucked into the waistband of his boxers. 

James put a hand over his shamed face and put the other on the doorknob. He hadn't locked it on the way out, thankfully, because he forgot to grab a key. 

He opened the door with the same amount of force as he'd opened Dave's. 

And then came the horrid squeak. 

James' lungs collapsed as he heard the noise. He heard bed sheets ruffle as James shut the door and locked it, trying to find his next move. Maybe Lars wasn't awake, maybe he was just mildly disturbed and had lulled back. Maybe he-

"James?" 

James swallowed hard and closed his eyes. He was fucked, really fucked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to upload! Warning, there is slash in this chapter. (Ulrich/Hetfield)

James leaned against the counter like he'd been crippled. He saw Lars sit up in the bed, rubbing his eyes, like a child. All he could see was thanks to the moonlight, which would very soon be replaced by sunlight. 

"James?"

James didn't say a word. 

"Where the fuck have you been?"

Lars' tone dropped when he caught sight of the blonde, across the room. Nowhere near his bed. 

"It's 5? James? Are you deaf?" Even with Lars' sleepy voice heavy in the sound, he still sounded obviously angry. "Uh...I went to get ice." 

Lars rolled his eyes. "At 5 a.m.? What the fuck do you need ice for?"

"My nose?" James now sounded like the interrogator. 

"How long ago did you go to get ice then?" 

"I just went."

"Your covers aren't even up, James."

James looked down, and away, anywhere but at Lars. "Where the fuck were you, really?" Lars would have gone up to James and slapped him for being an idiot if he wasn't completely bare. He knew exactly where James had been, he just wanted to hear him say it. 

"Dave's."

"Of course you were. Can I ask why? Or were you getting him ice too?" 

"Lars, don't."

"Don't what? Question why the fuck you've been at Dave's all night? Look at you, James. Your hair's a mess and your dick is tucked into your waistband. Yes, I can tell. What the fuck, James?" 

"Lars, I'm seri-"

"You went over to Dave's hotel room in the middle of the night, drunk, probably, right? And come back with messy hair and a boner. Did you go in there and fuck Dave? Did you?"

"I didn't fuck Dave, Lars. Don't be ridiculous."

"Then Dave fucked you."

"No, he didn't. I'm not into guys."

"Do you even know who you're talking to? He must not have done a very good job if you're still hard, right?"

James' teeth began to grind together. He shifted uncomfortably in his boxers and tried to hide behind his arms. He could feel Lars still looking at him, looking at his boxers. He waited for another snarky comment, but got nothing. 

The silence was unbearable. 

"Stop staring at me Lars."

Lars laughed and pressed his bare back against the headboard. "Get over here already, Jesus. I'm not gonna just let you like, pass out pissed off and hard. You'll be a piece of shit all day tomorrow."

James moved away from the counter and made his way to the foot of Lars' bed. There were sheets and comforters bunched up everywhere, at least, of what James could see. The rest, his hair cast out of view. 

"Did he drug you or something? You're acting like a zombie." 

"Sorry." 

"God dammit, James! Get over here before I drag your ass over here." 

James knew the drill by now. This had only happened a couple times before under eerily similar consequences, without the major detail of nearly having sex with Dave. 

In the past, James would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and sit by the open fridge with a beer in hand, sometimes crying, sometimes horny, sometimes both. The couple of times that Lars had woken up while James was still awake, he'd been sad and horny. Both times Lars would coax him into his bed and shut the fridge for him while James got comfortable, and as soon as James began to drift off he would sneak back under the same covers and press his back against James' chest. James opened his eyes both times to the sight of a smaller, warmer, bare body pressed up against his. Lars knew that was exactly what a sad and horny young man wanted, even if it wasn't a young woman. Lars figured James was too drunk to notice, or care. 

And Lars would reach an arm behind him, and grab James' wrist to guide it where he wanted it to go. 

James' hand would somehow end up on Lars' waist. James would pull him closer, impatiently. And Lars would let out muffled, gentle moan when he did. The first time he tried to pull this, he figured James would kick him off of the bed, but instead, all he would hear was the sound of James spitting into his own hand. 

And then James would put his hand on Lars' back and roll him onto his stomach, James would take his place on top, taking the blankets with them. 

This all happened without a single word from James. 

James' left hand would end up in Lars' hair, pulling his head back as far as it would go. His right hand would be curled around Lars' throat. James loved to hear that sound of him trying to moan, but every noise was forced through his grip on his throat. Lars would be dripping with sweat, becoming lightheaded, and his eyes would roll back as he sputtered, 'harder' and undoubtedly got what he asked for. 

Lars' arms would be trapped underneath his chest, helpless to do anything but claw at the sheets. James wouldn't make a sound, whereas Lars couldn't shut himself up, even if James' grip was becoming increasingly tighter. 

This time was different. 

James crawled into bed, after ditching his (Dave's) shirt, and tore the covers away from Lars. He was , like usual, naked underneath them. James motioned for Lars to roll on his stomach, and Lars complied. However he was surprised to feel James' cold hands on his waist already, and with a force Lars did not expect from James, he pulled him up so that he was on his hands and knees. Lars' tiny frame begin to quiver. 

\-----------------------------------

Dave had nearly passed out immediately after cleaning himself up. It was 5:14 a.m., but no light shone through his window. Dave was afraid of sleeping, if he was honest. James had left and he was afraid of vomiting, like he said. It was possible to vomit unconsciously and choke, he knew that. He was sure somewhere that the alcohol has diffused into his system and he was now not likely to throw up unless he ate something. But the little twinge of paranoia kept him awake, despite his now constant yawning and tired tremors. 

Dave ran his hands over his face and yawned again. He hadn't stayed up this late after drinking in years, so when the blissful, calm afterglow of being intoxicated (and, the same went for the afterglow of an orgasm), dropped off and Dave was thrown into hangover, he panicked. He didn't take James' advice and sleep, he wasn't about it. He wasn't sure he could. His stomach began to twist within him, and the awful ache showed itself. 

Dave groaned, and stood up from the bed. 

He needed water. Usually, he avoided water after drinking. All it did was take away from the experience of being drunk and make you have to piss, really, really bad. But now he was sure he needed something to help calm his insides. Not to mention, the headache that was beginning to take shape. Dave grabbed the keys off of his bedside table and left the room in search for a vending machine. 

Dave made a barefoot trek down the hallway and spotted the vending machine next to the ice machine at the bottom of the stairs. He yawned as he made a waypoint for it, but as soon as his yawn concluded and his hearing returned to normal, he walked past Lars' door. 

Dave froze. 

He heard a familiar noise. A noise he'd heard before. A noise they'd all heard before. 

Lars' moan. 

That loud, high pitched, nasally moan. 

Dave pressed his ear against the door, and listened as intently as he could. 

"Fuck! James, fuck...ah! Fuck!"

The moans became muffled, and then loud and clear once more. Lars had tried to bury his face in the pillow before James yanked his head up again...

...James. 

Oh, did Dave feel the blade bury itself deep into his back. James wasn't worried about Lars getting angry at Dave. No, in Dave's head, James was only concerned with fucking anyone but him. 

Dave bit down hard on his lip, and hurried back to his own room with a bit of an audible stomp and a rustling of his keys. He disregarded his need for water and threw open his door before slamming it shut once more. He didn't bother locking it; someone had already intruded and taken what was rightfully his, why not allow them to take the rest?

Dave shut off the tv and crawled into bed, covering the lower half of his face with the blankets. A helpless, angry wave of emotion rotated around Dave. He was finally alone, in silence and in darkness. But he couldn't get the sound of Lars moaning James' name out of his head. 

\-----------------------------------

The pads of James' fingers were pressed harshly into Lars' hips. Though this was only the third time they'd done this, James already knew exactly what Lars liked. Sure he'd been wasted the first two times, but he did remember exactly what would make Lars louder. One of those things was to pull his hair, and choke him. 

While James couldn't reach Lars' throat from where he was, he could get a perfect grip on his hair. He now had a fistful of that gorgeous hair, and yanked his head back. Lars' rhythmic moans got drastically louder. James saw the sheets stretch as Lars pulled them harder. 

This is exactly what he needed to feel, see, hear. He didn't feel right about it though, of course not. He'd ended up in two sexual encounters with his own gender that night, and he wasn't sure exactly what his feelings on the matter should be. But James was angry, angry at Lars and angry at himself. Thankfully, fucking Lars and using him like a whore had no repercussions. That, he was aware of...

James was lost in thought until he heard Lars almost yelling his name, trying to get his attention. James stopped his motion for a second. 

"You're gonna...break me in half, James..let go..."

James realized Lars probably couldn't breathe with his head being pulled back so far. He let go of his hair, but instead of letting him free, James pushed the side of Lars' head into the bed. Lars' arms snuck up beside his head and continued to yank at the sheets as James started again. 

It only took a few more minutes before Lars began to hear James, even over the sound of his own voice. His breath was getting shakier, and deep, rumbling groans began and trailed off into a simple gasp, or hiss. The sound of that, and the feeling of James treating him like a cheap whore threw Lars over the edge. There was something he really loved about that roughness; it not only helped James let off steam, but whatever sick fetish Lars had for it kept him satisfied for a long time. 

Lars' voice caught in his throat and his entire body tensed; he let his voice through and damn near screamed James' name like it was a curse word to heaven. He could hear his racing heart in his ears, he arched his back as much as possible and his vision went dark. 

Lars fell limp against the sheets. He let James use him still until he was done as well. Lars was so spent that James used up his last bit of stamina fucking a rag doll. God, did it feel good knowing that he no longer had to work to please the twink beneath him. It also felt good to know that pleasing him was that easy. He hadn't been trying before, honestly. But obviously Lars loved when James used him, so he didn't have to feel quite as bad for doing just that. He was going to have this to turn to when he needed it. 

Not like Lars was ever going to shoot it down, James could tell by the look on his face. While he had no idea where he even was, he never wanted to leave. 

James' nails dug into Lars' hips as he neared closer and closer to the edge. He bit his hand to muffle a dark, low moan as he finally reached it, but despite his efforts Lars could still hear the sound, and his heart skipped a beat. But the noise didn't come with another thrust, instead, Lars was suddenly left with a feeling of emptiness. James was at least considerate enough not to dirty Lars as much as he could have. 

James slid a sweaty hand through his hair, unsticking it from his face as he pushed Lars onto his side. 

There was cum on Lars' back and stomach and sweat on every other inch of his body. Lars didn't move, besides the rapid rising and falling of his chest. His hair covered his face entirely. 

James climbed into the other bed after replacing his boxers and crashed, instantly. Showers could wait for a few hours. 

\-----------------------------------

Lars had passed out immediately after the ordeal, which threw his schedule off track just a bit. He usually woke up to start the day pretty early; he liked to be the only one awake. Again, that made him feel in charge of something. And he loved that. He had felt pretty helpless in the few hours prior, but, he figured that was just something he desired out of a sexual activity, not his entire life. 

Self-Proclaimed God in the streets, Halfway To Hooker in the sheets. 

Lars rolled himself out of bed and ripped the outermost sheet off, stuffing it into the laundry basket on his way to the shower. 

He was careful to shut the bathroom door before turning on the shower. God only knows what would happen this time, if Lars woke James up. 

James didn't so much as stir until Lars opened the door to the bathroom again, and plumes of steam came barreling out along with him, and only a towel loosely fit around his hips. James sat up, and attempted to greet his drummer, but a groan forced its way out before his words. His head was absolutely killing him. "Hungover, James?" Lars asked, grinning at his own question. 

"Shut up."

"Go take a shower. You're all gross, covered in sweat and blood n' shit."

"Blood? Dave didn't get it all?"

"Oh, no, you must've busted open your lip again last night. Your mouth and chin are covered in it."

James didn't even realize. Why didn't it split back open when he was with Dave? Or did it, and he didn't notice then, either? It was probably split when he came, and bit down on his hand.

James scraped his chin with his nails, and sure enough, blood flaked away from it. 

James rushed to the mirror in the bathroom and examined himself. 

"'Covered'. There's like one tiny smear of blood."

"Gross."

James smiled, and the moment he did, his wide smile forced the cut open. Blood began to fill the rift. 

James wandered back into the room, and grabbed Lars' head, planting a kiss, and transferring the blood, onto his cheek. 

Lars grimaced and wiped the blood away, cursing at James. 

\-----------------------------------  
By the time James got out of the shower and dressed himself, it was already 8:30, and a panic began to set in. He came to the realization that Dave had been alone for nearly 4 hours without being checked on. 

James questioned his options. 

"I'm gonna go see if Cliff is awake."

Lars nodded, and didn't move his attention away from the tv as he blindly gathered his things into his travel bag. 

James grabbed a key off the counter and left the room. He made a beeline for Dave's room, and felt guilty doing so. He would stop by Cliff's on the way back, he swore he would. But there was a few things he needed to patch up with Dave first. Making sure he was still alive was one of them. 

James knocked on the door to the hotel room, hard, just in case Dave was still asleep. Sure enough, Dave answered only a moment later. 

"What? Who is it?" 

"It's James, open up."

Dave laughed on the other side of the door. Nothing was funny, no. That laugh was at the pity he felt for himself. 

Dave looked in the mirror before opening the door. He was stripped down to his underwear and his hair was extremely messy. Perfect, he thought, maybe James would see how betrayed he felt. Even if that betrayal diminished when he woke up. His rationality had returned, but the anger and frustration from the night before never budged. The only difference was, Dave couldn't quite identify why exactly he was upset that James went and fucked Lars. It made him feel pretty gross, honestly. He still questioned whether or not hearing Lars scream James' name was a hallucination or not. Some part of him prayed it was. 

So far as looking in the mirror, he wanted to make sure he looked attractive but distressed at the same time. That would get James for sure. 

Dave opened the door and scanned James. His hair was wet, as were his shoulders from the droplets. His face was slightly red, especially at the tip of his nose. He'd just showered, even though he'd fucked Lars nearly 3 hours before. Dave grimaced. If he had actually done anything with James, he would've showered, and he wouldn't have let James out of his sight until he showered, too. Hell, he might have even dragged James into the shower with him. Not like it would have been the first time they'd been behind a shower curtain together, there was picture proof for that. Nothing questionable happened to put them there, or while they were there, but that didn't mean Dave wasn't thinking about it. It was all credit due alcohol and James' thought provoking sense of humor. 

"Thank god, you're alive."

Thinking about the bathtub picture almost made Dave forget he was supposed to be angry at James. Dave's face fell into a sour look. 

"That's too bad, ain't it?"

James rolled his eyes, and rubbed his face. "What, Dave?"

"Don't 'What Dave' me, you know what." Dave could feel his organs swapping places. James wasn't going to acknowledge what he was hinting at, was he? He wanted clarification, dammit! 

Dave moved away from the doorway so that James could come in. James shut the door, hastily. "I need to go get Cliff, just say what you want and let go, alright? Lars is gonna-"

"Lars," Dave said, crossing his arms and laughing. Not funny. But for whatever reason, Dave seemed to think it was.

"What?"

"I would say, 'Fuck Lars', but looks like someone already has."

Dave's comment and the inappropriate snakiness of it slithering into the conversation made James' entirety drop into shock. His face began to turn exponentially redder. "I..fuckin.."

"Yeah?"

James prayed for Dave to say something. He didn't feel like he had to explain himself, or rather, he didn't want to. God, did Dave deserve an explanation.

James hid his face with his hands and began. 

"Holy shit. I didn't even realize how shitty that was, holy shit.."

Dave laughed again. "Yeah, preeeetty shitty." Dave was never one to be of few words, but he desired that explanation from James almost as much as drunk Dave desired James himself. James wanted nothing more than to lie and cover it up, but if Dave somehow knew this much, there was no way he was going to be able to convince him what he heard wasn't real. Lars was a screamer, yeah. That wasn't particularly helpful when trying to keep something like that a secret. He wasn't even sure why he did that, or why they both, James and Lars, seemed so okay with it. Neither one of them ever spoke about it, or even thought about it after it was over. It had never once affected how comfortable they were around each other, but this time James was sure there was going to be an inescapable awkwardness after James got out of that room. The weirdest part was, Lars hadn't said a single word about Dave in ill will, even when James snuck back into the hotel room unsuccessfully. He wasn't sure if Lars simply forgot, or, if he was saving his two cents for when all three of them were around. James was scared, to put it simply. 

"Aren't you gonna say something?" Dave asked. He sounded hurt. James was sinking further and further. 

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"You've got a point you've made, yeah? I figured you didn't want to go through with it this morning because you weren't comfortable, and yeah, I mean, I was kind of freaking out myself," 

Dave took a moment to stare at James in the eye before continuing. 

"But you were obviously fine with it, you went off and disappeared and just left me here. My god James, I walked out of my room for water, as a reminder I was drunk, and went by your room and heard Lars. Screaming your name."

James looked at the floor. He felt like this should be pissing him off, but he was smart enough to know what an asshole this made him look like. Unfortunately, James' ego was higher in the sense, too high to admit his wrongdoing. He was more focused on how unbelievably gay this made him feel. 

He walked out his solution in his head as he drowned out Dave. 

"What's going on between you two? I mean, I won't like...it's not a problem, I guess, but...shouldn't me and Cliff know if something...weird, was going on between the two of you, James?"

James heard about four words. 

They were gonna be on the bus until their arrival in Pasadena, which was only about a three and a half hour drive. And then, after the show, they had time to shower, and then they'd be back on the bus on their way to the airport. The airport ride would take only about forty minutes if the bus driver was hasty. The plane would leave at midnight, and loading all of their equipment was going to be a bitch, they'd have to pay extra close attention to everything they loaded. Poor Lars transferring all his drum equipment!

"James, are you even listening to me?"

James really needed to get laid. By a girl. 

"Yeah. Dave, I need to go get Cliff. You remember what I said last night right?"

Dave blinked. 

"When I said if you still wanted...that...today, you could come find me on the bus and I'll be waiting. I haven't backed down on that.."

What the fuck did you just say, thought James, immediately after the whole 'get laid by a girl' thing. 

Dave didn't respond. He'd been a bit dumbfounded by that. He looked at the ground and took a deep breath before restating his question. 

"What's going on betw-"

"Nothing is going on between me and Lars, just like nothing is going on between me and you."

Dave felt relieved, but hurt, at the same time. He said, "Go get Cliff.", and excused James from his presence. He had absolutely no clue how to feel about that. He didn't even want anything to do with James like that, he wasn't gay. None of them were gay. 

They were just...really, really lonely. 

As James left the room for Cliff, Dave locked himself in the bathroom and pressed his back up against the door. Maybe James was being facetious when he told him to find him on the bus. It finally hit Dave that he bus ride was going to be in broad daylight and last only a few hours. If anything were to happen at all, they would have to somehow make it so neither Cliff nor Lars heard. Lars was a nosy bastard that clung to James' leg and Cliff was disturbingly smart and somehow knew about everything going on with each person. 

That wasn't even the brunt of it. Dave had to admit that he was a little terrified of the plane ride. They were going to fly out to Boston, and then sometime in the next few weeks, out to New York. That, he was terrified for. But that's where they had to be. 

Dave took another breath and stepped into the shower. He let scalding hot water pound against his back for nearly five minutes without doing a thing. The next few hours are going to fucking suck, he thought.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain in the ass to write. Just a little bit of story continuation; this essentially exists to build up the tension between the three in question...but that's for you to find out! I promise the next chapter will be better.

"Wakey wakey, Cliff! Up and at 'em!"

James knocked on Cliff's door relentlessly, making as much noise as he could to get to the man on the other side. He answered with an awful, grumpy groan, and James couldn't help but laugh. He'd woken him up, out of what was probably a wonderfully deep sleep. Pissing Cliff off would be satisfying, if, pissing Cliff off was possible. 

James traveled back to Lars' room. He noticed there was more energy coming from Cliff's room as he walked away, but Dave's seemed oddly still. 

"Is Cliff up?"

"Yeah, I just shook him. He should be pretty pissed off on the inside."

"Cliff doesn't get pissed off, James. He just kinda concentrates it into bass aggression."

"Good! I have a shit feeling about the show tonight." 

James had only swung by Lars' room to update him on the condition of his band and to pick up the keys to his own hotel room, which had gone untouched all night. But his things were still in there, they had been since the morning before when they arrived to the hotel. James unlocked the door and stuffed all of his belongings into his tiny travel bag and shut the door behind him. They would be leaving any minute, or at least as soon as Dave opened the door. 

That time took a while to roll around. Cliff and James and Lars were sitting in Lars' hotel room, surrounded by bags, with the door open. They were waiting for Dave to get the hell out of his room. Sure, the most practical thing to do would be to go get him themselves, but both Cliff and Lars had a bit of a strung out view on Dave for the time being, and if James went Lars would give him shit all day. 

And he didn't want to remind Lars about the early hours of the morning, for fear of reigniting the frustration. 

James was sitting in a chair, backwards, with his elbows atop what was supposed to be the backrest and his legs strained apart on either side of it. He was wearing his red Smirnoff shirt with the sleeves cut short. Not sleeveless, but the sleeves seemingly only existed to cover up the acne scars James had on his shoulders and across his upper back. Lars couldn't help but stare at James while he spoke, but not at his eyes. His shirt was still damp from his hair and his jeans had been worn one too many times. He could see his knees on both legs, and the fading scrapes and bruises and scars that lied on them from falling off skateboards. His worn out, off-white, off-brand high top sneakers that hugged his ankles above the jeans. Lars wished he was tall, like James. James was so lanky but he fit into his figure so nicely that it made him jealous. He wished he would look that strong and that fragile all at once. 

Thank god Lars was thinking about James and not Dave. 

When Dave got out of the shower, he instantly felt dirty all over again after remembering where he had to be. He had to go confront his band mates. He had to confront them knowing what happened in that hotel room hours earlier. 

And knowing what had happened in his own hotel room, for that fucking matter. 

Dave filled his travel bag after throwing on the same jeans from the day before and a distressed Misfits printed shirt. 

It was James'.

Dave threw open the door as he sucked in a breath and held it. Lars' door was already open. He certainly didn't like the look of that. 

As Dave approached the door with the bag hanging off his shoulder, the three men inside quieted down. 

Dave's blood was beginning to freeze over before James spoke, and for whatever reason, hearing James' deep but youthful voice melted his blood once more. 

"Mornin' Dave. 'sthat everything?" 

Dave gave him a half assed nod. 

"Good. Lock up and we'll get out of here,"

James pushed himself off the chair and lifted it, to adjust it back into its place, tucked neatly into the desk. 

Both Lars and Dave watched his arms as he did so. 

"The bus guy should be waiting in the lobby like we told him."

\-----------------------------------

Dave was doing a pretty fine job at avoiding any physical contact with any of the three. He couldn't wait until the show; their relationships would be patched up over Carlsberg and Dave could not fucking wait to hear James screaming into that microphone like the possessed. Seeing the fragility that shrouded James and then hearing such roaring vocals burst from the depths of his chest was this brilliant juxtaposition that left each of the members in initial shock. Dave admired the way he could play and sing together, but in another way, it terrified him. James was so good at his craft that he feared his own position. James and Cliff had praised Dave time and time again on his skill, and hell, so did Lars. But that didn't mean he felt as important as James. 

He knew he was good. He knew that. But James was already there. 

Thoughts from the previous night were starting to bubble back into his head. 

Except this time, James was too busy to break it with an unexpected kiss. 

Dave shook himself back into reality and followed behind Cliff into the tour bus. He'd already sat through a painstaking amount of minutes, watching James and Lars argue with a bus driver. Cliff finally nudged Dave, and motioned toward the door of the lobby. His nose pointed off at a bus awaiting them outside, huge and overpowering. His eyes lit up. 

Cliff started off toward the door, and Dave quickly scrambled behind him. Checking out their very own tour bus certainly sounded more exciting than watching James and Lars and some guy bicker about the route they'd take to whatever Californian city they were traveling to next. 

Cliff climbed into the bus first, and stood at the top of the narrow entrance staircase. Dave had a bit of trouble letting himself up, because of the lack of grip on his tattered shoes. Cliff held out an outstretched hand for Dave, and Dave let him grab his forearm to pull him up. 

Something about that little gesture felt extremely refreshing. At least Cliff was mature enough not to avoid Dave like the plague. 

The two string artists stood at the front of the bus and looked it up and down. It truly was a house on wheels. There were booths aligning either side of the interior until it reached a doorway, which led into a small bedroom with two bunk beds, and a bathroom with far too many locks. The overhead cabinets weren't very spacious but they could hold whatever goodies Dave was carrying along, and their actual luggage had already been packed on by god knows who. Thank god this bus would somehow head along with the boys to New York, transported somehow. Dave wanted to spend all of his time in it. He almost prayed they wouldn't take a plane, but rather a cross country trip in their bus. But he knew even considering the idea was bleeding him money. 

Cliff tossed himself into a booth and sunk into it. "God daaaamn, I never thought we'd get here."

"Never, huh?"

"You know what I mean." Cliff's stoner grin was so reassuring that Dave's dread dissolved. 

"Yeah, you mean that we suck, and we should still be playing a bar right now," Dave started, falling into the booth beside Cliff. Cliff punched him in the arm, playfully. 

"Totally. We're terrible."

"Awful."

"You suck at guitar."

"You suck at bass," 

The sounds of their own laughter were the sole noises filling the otherwise empty bus. Dave loved Cliff, if he was honest. He had nothing but love for the man to his very core. That's what made his whole situation between the other two band members most uncomfortable. He doubted it would change Cliff's views on him, but the idea of losing his approval stung. He'd almost lost it the previous night and he knew that. But Cliff knew it was an accident. 

Cliff knew it wasn't his fault. 

\-----------------------------------

"No, you listen to me. We're going the long way whether you like it or not, got that?" 

"James, why the fuck would you want to take longer to get there?"

"The short route is fucked."

"Fucked how? Fucked like uh...like road work fucked? Or fucked like just dangerous fucked?" 

"Just fucked, okay? I already brushed up on it with the driver."

"Jesus Christ-"

"You can sleep on the bus, dude! You usually do anyway."

Lars rolled his eyes at his singer and climbed into the bus. He was much less impressed by it as opposed to Cliff and Dave. He was pissed he had to be cooped up in it for longer than planned, all thanks to James and his minimal explanation. The bus wasn't even all that special, just some worn upholstery and lackluster atmosphere, accompanied by a fridge and pullout tables. He was going to call a bunk, even if it wasn't for an overnight trip. Bored was the only thing that Lars was going to be for the next handful of hours. 

James' ego fell again when he saw Dave. He was the last person on the bus, and therefore the one to shut the door, and give the driver the okay. Dave and Cliff were packed tightly together like sardines in the booth, with their eyes glued to the same comic book that their hands seemed to be quietly fighting over. It was good to see Dave preoccupied like that, but it also somehow hurt when Dave didn't look up when he heard James shut the door. In fact, no one did. Even as James settled into his own respective booth and the bus had been moving for quite some time, they were all busy with their own activities. While it made him feel sick to his stomach with self righteousness and guilt, James wasn't getting any attention whatsoever. He had been getting nonstop attention since the previous night and he wasn't prepared for it to stop. 

The strangest and most unsettling part was, though, was that Dave hadn't looked up at James at all. He hadn't acknowledged him, despite the fact that James groveled for more bus time specifically for Dave. As a reminder, Dave was supposed to approach James on the bus if he wanted to pick up where they left off. And from the looks and sounds of things before, James was sure that something was going to happen. Anything. 

James prayed Cliff would go into the next room. 

James was fiddling with his own hair when he heard someone call out his name. 

"James, come here and look at this."

Cliff had his finger pressed into the middle of a page in a comic book. James didn't necessarily care about whatever was on the page, but it was important enough for Cliff to invite him to this little private rendezvous he and Dave were participating in, only five feet across from him. 

James stood and bent over onto the table where the comic book lay. His elbows were sat upright on the table and his chin was in his hands. It was, admittedly, not the most comfortable position to be in. But he figured, hey, if this can't get Dave's attention then nothing can. 

The paper had a small advertisement for the latest Misfits cassette to date, and Cliff was a tad excited about it. 

"We should get it while we're in New York," James said, his whole head moved when he spoke as his hands held his chin in one place. James' eyes dragged upward toward Dave. He hadn't answered, or even looked. And for whatever fucking reason, it was making James impatient. His guitarist was paying so little attention to him that he was starting to get anxious. He forced his legs not to shake in that uncomfortable position as he prowled for Dave's attention. 

"Dave,"

James said his name sharply. Cliff's head turned to face Dave as well, and it was a couple seconds before he responded. He finally looked up at James with his fingers folded together and pressed against his lips. Over his nose and across his cheekbones held a thick, red blush that was obvious to the both of his companions. "Yeah, what?"

"You okay? You're looking a little..."

"Sick, like, puke sick. How's your head?"

Cliff intervened before James could find the right word, and thank god he did. Dave chuckled a little bit, and shifted in his seat. He caught an eyeful of how James was bent over the table, and reeled his gaze away instantly back to the table. His hand ran over the back of his neck. 

"Yeah, I know, Het looks good like that." James' breath caught in his throat and he hid his face. "Dammit Cliff," he said, straightening himself up and out of that position. 

Cliff laughed at himself and pushed Dave a little, trying to get him to lighten up. This behavior was wildly out of the ordinary and both James and Cliff wanted him to snap out of it. 

James knew how to fix it. But Dave had to make the first move. Those were the rules, even if they hadn't been vocally established. He figured Dave should know that, especially since the words, "Come find me on the bus" had been vocally established. 

Lars was fast asleep tangled in the sheets that lied above one of the bunks. He was in the top bunk, of course. He wasn't willing to sleep under it and risk someone climbing above him and crushing him in his goddamn sleep. If any crushing was to be happening, Lars would be happy being the crusher rather than the crushed. 

But he was asleep, and the door was shut and locked from the inside. No one was getting in there if Lars had any say, conscious or unconscious. So the trio was locked outside, and they had zero access to their own travel bags. 

That worried Dave, just a little bit. He was still the slightest bit scared of Lars' motive. That's why he wouldn't be making any first moves; if Lars were to catch Dave and James doing essentially anything, Dave might be out. 

James had been fucking teasing him all morning. 

"Hey, Dave, you're feeling okay right?" 

Cliff was on the other side of the room, fidgeting with the radio. Static and broken music was forcing its way out of the speakers as Cliff searched for a stable station. James and Dave were the only two in the booth now, but the eye contact was minimal as Dave kept looking at the back of the bus driver's head. It wasn't exactly interesting but it sure beat making eye contact with James and running the risk of blushing like an idiot again. 

"I'm good." Was all Dave said. James frowned. 

"Yeah, that's why you're acting like something's eating away at you." 

"Something IS eating away at me. And you know..."

Dave quieted down, not to alert Cliff. 

"You know damn well what." 

James chuckled and Dave's fucking face turned scarlet. He hated that chuckle, or rather, hated to admit that he loved that chuckle. 

James was just so fucking....

Ravish-able.

James put an arm along the back of the booth, behind Dave, and leaned close to his ear. Cliff looked back, but payed little attention to it. 

Not his business. 

"Do you play better after you cum?" James whispered. 

His insides felt hollow as the words rolled off of James' tongue. Dave loosely curtained his hand across his face and sighed. 

"God, James, don't even think about-"

"I know I do."

Everything around Dave seemed to fade to darkness as James' voice in his ear became the only thing in reality. 

Well, James' voice and his heartbeat impelling. 

"I think we'd all have a better show if you'd man up."

James heard Cliff snicker from aside the radio. He quieted his whisper even more until it was stripped down to a growl. 

"James, it's not going to work he-"

Dave's hands and jaw tensed as he suddenly felt James' fingers creep across his jeans, into his inner thigh. 

For what felt like an eternity, James' fingers trailed and teased along the fabric and for fucks sake, it made Dave feel like a powerless, helpless loser. If Cliff wasn't there, be would have flipped James over onto the table and made him remember who exactly was in charge. 

The radio finally landed on a coherent Thin Lizzy song, and that's when Dave realized that the time that'd passed couldn't have been nearly as long as it felt. It felt horribly long; James' hands slipping too far past his leg and pressing against his dick through his jeans. He could tell James didn't mean to give him that, but that puff of air Dave let past his lips and James knew exactly what it felt like. 

Gratifying. And Dave wanted more. Too bad, if he wanted more, he was going to have to sought after it himself. 

"Did Lars lock the door?"

Cliff absolutely shattered the tension, and James averted his attention. 

"You really think he didn't?"

Dave settled back against James' arm and relaxed. He looked much more comfortable, but in his own head he was focused on how he was going to get Lars out of that room and Cliff out of their hair. 

"I dunno. I kinda want to crash but Lars likes his privacy."

"Who the fuck cares what Lars likes? Knock on the door and go crash."

"Nooo, I don't wanna piss him off." 

"I do." 

James rose from his spot and tip toed over to the door, playfully, before smashing his knuckles against the grainy wood and yelling, at the top of his lungs. 

"Wake the fuck up, Dutch Boy! Quit lockin' doors on my bus!"

Cliff and Dave were stifling laughter. 

"Up Lars! Get up before I kick down the fuckin' door!" 

Lars jerked awake and nearly hit his head on the ceiling. James. God fucking dammit, James. 

He rolled out of the bunk and climbed down the small ladder, with a sour frown on his face. Lars opened the door, messy haired and half naked, to glare at James, who was mid knock. 

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Lars said, clumsily. He spotted Dave and Cliff from across the room, looking like they were trying to not look suspicious, which just made them look even more suspicious. 

"Kicking you out. Don't lock doors on here unless you're fucking someone, got it?"

Dave squinted at James from across the bus, and felt his heart sink. Now that James had fucking said that...

They couldn't get away with anything now. It was going to have to wait. Was James trying to make Dave wait even longer? If he was trying to establish dominance, Dave was going to humiliate it out of him...

Lars' frown only got more and more grumpy. "Kicking me out of the fuckin' bedroom even though I was the first person in there? Fuckin' shit, James, buddy, let me crash!"

"You can crash on the booth," 

"Just because I locked the door I lost my fuckin' bunk privileges?"

"Exactly. Scram, Dutch Boy!"

Lars scoffed and pushed past James, catching him with his shoulder. Dave quickly moved out of the spot to make room for Lars, who only folded the table up and away. He sat next to Cliff and gave him a look as well. "Dutch Boy," Cliff repeated, giggling. Lars bit the inside of his cheek and crossed his arms. "I'm not even fuckin' Dutch,"

"Close enough," was his counterargument. Cliff was displaying his natural state of infectious chumminess, and soon, Lars' face relaxed back into his dumb smile. "No Cliff, not good enough, someone tell James I'm DANISH, not Dutch!"

Lars and Cliff turned to face James, who only giggled, and reiterated it once more. 

"Dutch Boy."

\-----------------------------------

Dave had gone pretty silent again. James already established the rules that would stick in their heads, no doubt about that. 

"No locking the door unless you're fucking someone"

So, even if Dave and James somehow snuck past Cliff and Lars, the only private areas in the bus were the bedroom and the bathroom. The bathroom was too goddamn small and the bedroom was on everyone's mind. 

Except, Dave wasn't exactly opposed to the idea of pinning James up against the cold, tile wall of the shower and watching him arch and squirm. 

Dave shut his eyes tight and pressed his lips together. 

James was being such an unbelievable brat, and no one was going to punish that behavior except for him. 

God, would he. He was going to, soon enough, he'd figure out a way. He was going to fucking destroy him in one way or another. Sure, he felt almost guilty for ripping James' attention away from such a needy little Lars, but he also figured that Lars already got enough fucking attention. And Lars didn't appreciate it as much as Dave did. In short, Dave deserved James just a little bit more than Lars did, in his own mind at least. 

On the other side of the spectrum, James was going to have to figure out how to divide up his attention to keep his band mates happy. Why it had to be him and not Cliff he didn't understand, but there was something about being fought over that made him feel both powerful and powerless. 

James was going to belong to Dave soon. When, he wasn't sure. But soon. Soon after this bus ride concluded maybe. The lot of them were in the main space of the bus, looking through the magazines and taking less than generous sips of Carlsberg, just to hold them over for the next couple of hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if there are any typos or grammatical errors in here...thank you~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the huge gap between chapters; this one was a royal pain in my ass to create. But with finals up and out of the way I promise I'll be paying more attention to this story. 
> 
> Warning for slash.

The next few hours of the bus ride were long, and excruciating. The only highlight that Dave could think of was the Death Angel cassette that Cliff had somehow picked up along the way. 

Dave liked what he was hearing, but he couldn't, for the life of him, focus on the raw metal being spoon fed to him. And he felt guilty, because Cliff was trying to show him, and trying to get a review at the same time. 

He was looking at him like a child expecting a critique on their crayon drawing. 

"What do you think?"

"I..uh.."

Dave blinked a couple of times before realizing what he had been asked. 

"I like it. Dark. I like dark." 

"I knew you'd like it. You want it? I got like, four, they were handing 'em out at a record shop." 

"Sure..yeah..I'll take it." 

Dave's underwhelmed replies didn't seem to have any effect on Cliff, not like he expected them too. 

But Dave was just so...out of it. 

Hazed, and distracted. He knew he was going to put on a shit show for the night. It was all James' fucking fault. He got him thinking too much and it was fucking up any and all coherent thought he may have had about the show. 

Come to think of it, he didn't even know the fucking setlist. 

"Lars,"

Dave spoke, turning from his spot to face Lars. He had to admit, he was a little scared of the interaction. They hadn't spoken to each other once. 

Lars looked away from James for a moment, and his face contorted. 

Dave gulped. 

"Do you have the uh...the set list? On hand?"

"You haven't even seen that? Shit, Dave."

Lars grumbled as he shoved his forearms into a carry-on and pulled out a folder with several papers, filled with his handwriting. He handed the paper to James, and immediately looked away. 

James handed it to Dave, and looked at him with this fucking...

Smirk. 

This smirk that pulled up half of his mouth and indented a sly dimple and Dave knew exactly why he smirked like that. 

His hands shook as he took the paper. 

"1. Metal Militia   
2\. Seek & Destroy  
3\. Whiplash  
4\. The Mechanics  
5\. Hit The Lights  
6\. Phantom Lord  
Last show: Dave and James (guitar) sounded awful. Tone was off the entire show. Amps buzzed too much, too much feedback. Let's pray next show goes better."

Dave sighed. He didn't realize he sounded like shit, he didn't realize James did either. To him, they both sounded fine together. 

If anything, Lars fucked up. 

"I think we should switch Militia and Hit The Lights."

Lars looked up again and gave him the same face. 

"That's the set we agreed on."

"I didn't. I wasn't there last night."

"We decided on this like a week ago. It's the same set we had last night." 

"No, last night we didn't play Militia. We played Motorbreath." 

"No we fucking didn't, Dave. You're probably too uh...too fuckin' hungover to remember last night as a whole, huh?"

"Lars, don't."

James and Cliff exchanged a look. They were both curious as to how far this would go until one of them had to intervene. 

"No, you don't, Dave. I don't think you have a fuckin' right to dictate the set. You fuckin' decked your singer and then took advantage of his fuckin' drunkenness to-"

"Lars!" James spat, cutting him off.

Lars shut up. James turned red. 

"Shut your mouth, alright? We'll play it however the fuck you want, Jesus. I just thought we could fucking...change it. 

Sorry. Never mind."

Dave stood up and excused himself to the bathroom, to escape the tension. He wasn't exactly sure what Lars was about to say, but he was pretty set on the idea that Lars somehow...knew...about the previous night. Dave bit his lip. 

 

When the bus ride was finally over, the sun was already baking the air. It was around three in the afternoon, and they still had a few hours until their show. 

The bus pulled around to the back of their venue, and a team of workers inside helped the four load their equipment into the backstage division. Upon entering the rear doors of the building, Dave, even with his arms strenuously lugging along his guitar equipment, caught sight of a showering area through the dressing rooms. Seeing this relit the idea that had been floating around his mind earlier. 

Getting James in the shower. 

Maybe he'd have to deny letting girls backstage with them today and keep James for himself. Those girls could have all the same fun with Cliff and Lars, couldn't they? After all, the trouble James had wrung Dave through was going to land him in deep shit if they ended up alone. 

James had pushed every single one of his buttons. Dave was prepared for the worst. Maybe he was going to have to make him suffer. He imagined his hands wrapped around his chicken neck, and James' fingers weakly scratching any part of Dave he could reach while begging for him to let go, and that sweet, terrified look on his face when the grip only gets tighter, despite his protests....

"Dave? I asked if you were hungry?"

James tapped Dave on the shoulder looking like he was playing stupid. Dave whipped his head up. 

"What? Oh. Yeah, kinda."

James leaned onto his knees and fumbled with a carton of cigarettes. "I think we're gonna go get pizza," Mid-word, James placed a cigarette between his lips and dug in his pocket for a lighter. When he came up short, Dave reached into his own pocket and handed a lighter to James. 

The same thing that happened on the bus happened once more. 

James took the lighter and grinned around that cigarette, looking Dave dead in the eye. He became aware of the quickening pulse in his wrist as his hand dangled. 

James lit the cigarette and straightened out his legs, getting comfortable on the bench, almost laying there. He looked back up at Dave, who still looked hilariously uncomfortable, sitting hunched like that. 

"You're being a real pussy."

"Excuse you?"

"You keep putting up this act, we both know for a fact you ain't gonna do shit." 

The words left his lips with little puffs of smoke. 

Dave craned his neck and checked his surroundings before letting his instinct get the best of him. He grabbed a handful of James' hair and pulled, so that he bent out of that lazy sulk, and sat eye to eye with Dave again. James whined and took two fingers to his cigarette to let his mouth free. 

Dave didn't stop pulling until James' ear was up against his mouth. 

"Keep talking shit and you'll feel the floor, you understand me?"

James flicked his cigarette in Dave's direction, littering his lap with ash. 

Dave pulled again, and James let out a real noise this time. 

"I'll make such a bitch out of you, you just fucking watch." 

Dave tossed James' head away and stood, about to exit the locker room, but not before catching sight of the disheveled mane of his soon-to-be victim James Hetfield. The cigarette quivered in his hands.

"Just you wait, Het."

.....

"Why the fuck would you put pineapples on a pizza?"

"Why would you put tiny fucking fish? Whole fish? Fish at all?"

"Whatever. At least it's not a fruit."

"The fish still have eyes, Lars! You nasty bastard!"

Lars laughed and smacked James in the arm. James returned the gesture, but rougher, and Lars was left rubbing the fleshy part of his upper arm for the rest of the time in the pizza parlor. 

He could tell James was nervous about something. And considering the change in Dave's character as of late, he knew it was his fault. As for Cliff, he wasn't sure if he was just oblivious to the strange behavior, or simply didn't care. 

Really, it wasn't a matter of not caring. It was more, looking past their flaws, and keeping true to the friendship. 

But Lars wasn't about that sappy shit. Dave was really pissing him off, and if he was going to continue to interfere with the progress of the band as much as he had, he was going to have to take matters into his own hands. 

When the four returned to the venue, things were finally beginning to look like a concert. The concert promoters were already lining the perimeter, and the employees were stressing about making everything right. The other two bands they were performing with arrived as well, but all they could see of them was their buses, and publicists. 

Metallica didn't have any publicists. 

They shoveled one another into the back door, trying not to be noticed by anyone other than the security. 

Inside was even wilder than outside. The second they were all in the building the sound of breaking glass sounded. 

James knew that the night would be a success, no matter what happened, he could feel it. 

Lars wasn't so sure. 

....

Ten minutes before performance was when nerves really started to fry. Lars sat in a corner, massaging his arms and rolling his neck. Cliff was lacing his boots tight enough to avoid any mishaps. He didn't need to slip on his pedal again, that would be a disaster. Dave peeled his shirt off of himself and replaced it with a vest. It wasn't quite as classless as playing shirtless, but he didn't feel like being slick with sweat before the second song. 

James was tightening Dave's bullet belt around his waist. He thought for sure it was his own, until he got it around and it continued to sink on one side. He tore off his Smirnoff shirt and replaced it with a tight shirt screen-printed with his bands logo. To represent, of course (and, also to show off that little curve in his waist to potentially get Dave's attention...).

They sat in a nervous silence, playing with their necklaces and rings until it was their time to take the stage. 

Someone called them up and they grabbed the necks of their instruments and sticks and found their spots on stage in the dark. From what James could see in such a thick darkness, the venue was packed. It was exactly big, but there was a big open space, a bar, and a balcony, all filled with concert goers. 

The set was taped to the floor next to James' mic stand. He strained his eyes to read the first line until he remembered something. 

"We should switch Hit the Lights and Metal Militia."

Which James thought was a great idea.

James leaned closer to the mic, and ripped through the silence with a yell. 

"Hit The Lights!" 

Lars fucking sank in his chair and covered his face. Son of a bitch, he thought, James was listening to Dave. Dave, on the other hand was beaming. 

The concert goers stood a tad confused in the dark. 

"I said, Hit The Lights!"

The lights finally snapped on in response to James' scream, much rougher than the first time. 

And the second they did, Dave rolled the tone peg and slid his fingers up the neck of the guitar. 

And like that, Dave and James started the first song. 

Lars complied, begrudgingly at first, mumbling Danish vulgarities under his breath. Cliff, plain and simple, liked the idea of the change, and felt it more fitting. 

"No life 'til leather, we're gonna kick some ass tonight!" 

James was pretty excited about how rough and rocky his voice was sounded, and every few seconds he'd direct his eyes over to Dave. He seemed pretty excited about it as well. Dave just looked a hell of a lot better in general. Maybe it was because he was finally getting the attention he needed. Lights on him, focus on him, fans impressed with his skills. 

"When we start to rock we never wanna stop again!" 

Dave joined James next to the mic to scream with him. He pressed their shoulders together and made room for them to use the same mic. 

Hit the Lights!

The rest of the night played out in a similar fashion. James and Dave would share onstage interactions, Cliff would steal the fucking show, and Lars would angrily comply with the set list that for whatever reason, James kept jumbling. 

Lars didn't let it get to him, not all that much at least, until they played the final song. 

Phantom Lord. 

With the scream that Lars absolutely adored. 

The problem was, Dave loved that scream too. Why did it piss him off so much? Well, it might have been because James let go of his guitar and cupped the mic in his hands as he leaned against Dave, further and further, letting out that monstrous scream until he was bent backwards and Dave was there to catch him. His back pressed against Dave's chest and his head fell against his shoulder. Dave threw his right arm around James and leaned with him. 

Lars' grip on the drumstick tightened and his knuckles turned white. That was it. That was the last fucking straw. Dave was making him absolutely fucking crazy and Lars was going to have to take it out on someone later. 

James caught his breath after his scream and straightened out the mic, rubbing his bangs away from his sweaty face to thank the crowd. 

Who, was cheering so loud that James could no longer hear the sound of his own voice. 

"Thank you motherfuckers for kicking my ass! We'll be back soon, goodnight!" 

And they were excused from the stage. 

Dave took his guitar and walked behind the curtain, following closely behind James. Cliff was behind Dave, and Lars was lagging behind. 

He tore his sweaty headband off of his forehead and tossed it to the ground. He was pissed; terribly pissed and it was all because of James and Dave being too close for comfort. 

He followed Cliff into the locker room, the backstage area, out where there were plenty of drooling groupies from the other bands waiting to get their hands on fresh meat. 

Lars let them take him. As did Cliff. But James and Dave were nowhere to be found. 

In realty, Dave placed a huge hand in the middle of James' back and pushed him, roughly, into the enclosed showers. 

James jumped when he felt that paw and stumbled into the area, nearly slipping. 

"Dave what the fu-" 

The final bit of James' obscenity was wheezed out; Dave shoved him against the cold tile wall, knocking the breath out of him, and making him writhe away from the cold. 

But he couldn't budge. Dave was holding his shoulders, so that James could do nothing but arch the lower part of his body against Dave. 

Dave almost thought that James would bolt for the door the second he let him go to close it, but he didn't move. Dave chucked as he shut and locked the door and walked right past James. 

James reached out to grab him, but Dave ripped his arm away and ignored his presence beyond that. James whined, desperately, as Dave walked to the open showers, and turned on all four faucets to the hottest setting. Soon, the bathroom began to steam up. 

Dave walked back to James, and pushed his shoulders once more. James let him do it, too. He hit the wall and grunted but didn't do a damn thing to protest. 

"You wanna keep toying with me James?"

James' eyes widened as he stared at Dave. 

"What? You run out of smart ass comments?" 

James, still dead silent. Dave finally got him where he wanted him, putty in his hands, completely vulnerable. He giggled and took James' thin wrists in his hands and pressed them against the wall, as he pushed his face up with his nose and pecked him. 

James attempted to escape the cold tile from touching his back, but it only drew Dave closer, particularly his hips. Wriggling away from the wall he sparked friction between the two of them. Dave grunted against his mouth and he took his hands away from the wall, only to smash them back into it. James breathed heavily through his nose when his knuckles cracked against the tile, and continued to breathe that way when one of Dave's hands disappeared from his wrist and found his way to his waist. He pushed his hip back against the wall as well, teasing him, keeping him away from the friction and closer to the freezing wall. Dave heard a response, and the second he broke the kiss James began to pant, like a damn dog. 

He let the other wrist go and brought it up to James' jaw, pushing his head up and to the side to gain access to his neck. In the process, James managed to hit the back of his head on the wall and give Dave a pained hiss. Dave went after the sensitive stretch of skin connecting his neck and the corner of his jaw, first planting his lips against it, then nipping at it. 

James' hip fought against Dave's hand when the shock of being bit coursed through him. He grumbled Dave's name through his teeth, and found his nails digging into Dave's vest. When he heard the sound of nails scratching denim, Dave straightened his arms out for a moment to ditch the vest. It hit the floor, the wet floor, and that was their cue to say 'fuck it' and throw themselves under the water. Dave curled his fingers around James' throat, and squeezed, making him gasp. 

Fitting exactly what his fantasy held for him. 

"Dave..."   
The weak gasp, the breathless plea that left Dave almost speechless. Dave began to slowly inch backward toward the water, dragging James along with him. 

"What's that...? I think I forgot my name, can you remind me?" 

The grip got tighter. James sucked in a rough breath to whimper Dave's name once more. 

"D-...Dave.." 

"Oh, that's right. Silly me," Dave giggled. He let go of James' throat and instead snaked it around the back of his head, grabbing himself a fistful of his hair. 

He smashed their mouths together, under the scorching hot water. A nice change, James thought, as he was ripped away from the intensity of the freezing tile and introduced to the intensity of the hot water. 

Soon they were really connected, a war of tongue and teeth with wet hair matted to their faces and necks, and fingers curls around in the manes, somewhere. The second Dave got his hand out of the tangled mess, it scraped along the upper curves of James' back. His shirt was soaking wet and heavy, so Dave tugged on it. 

He mumbled one single word against James to forward the process. 

"Off,"

James struggled to tear the heavy, sopping wet shirt off of his body, but managed, and tossed it aside with a loud slap upon hitting the ground. 

He went back to get more of that kiss before Dave pushed him away. 

"Did I say stop?"

James blinked in confusion. Dave rolled his eyes, then focused them on James' water darknened pants. 

"I said, off." 

James began to undo his button. 

"Everything."

He was about to protest against taking off his boxers before being hard, but the stern way he rolled the word fixed that problem for him. 

Dave stood and watched his prey awkwardly kick off a pair of jeans and step on them until his feet were free, and then he stood in nothing but his boots and wet boxers, which the latter was already shaping around the hardening outline of his dick. 

Dave crossed his arms across his chest impatiently. The water was pooling in the crevices between his arms and spilling over onto his chest. 

"Did I fucking stutter, Het?" James looked so confused, and anxious. It was a look that hardly ever surfaced onto his face, but it was there for Dave, and only Dave. 

James shoved his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers and shifted himself until they hit the floor. Soon he was bare, folding his arms over his dick like the night before, in embarrassment. James' face was the color of bubblegum. He felt his cock twitch beneath his arms the second he saw Dave part his lips to speak again. What he was going to say, he had no clue. But he was eager to find out. 

When Dave didn't see James' dick from under his arms, he knew it must have been hidden and trapped. He made sure Dave didn't see, but his mistake was the thick blush in his face. 

"Hard already? All it takes is a little nibble and you're good to go, isn't that right?" His tone was malicious, and James was scared. Absolutely petrified by it. His knees grew weak and he began to tremble in his vulnerable state. He was all too ready to find out how his night would play out, and Dave wasn't giving him the satisfaction. 

"Stop teasing me...or so help me God.."

Dave widened his eyes, and his jaw fell open in astonishment. James was talking back. 

It was giving him every excuse to continue, maybe even worsen, this punishment, that James had already brought upon himself. 

"Well excuse the fucking shit out of me," Dave laughed, unzipping his own pants. He sat on the shower seat protruding from the wall, and dragged his palm across the outline of his dick through his boxers. James' blinked away hot water droplets from his eyelashes, and as he did, they rolled down his cheeks. He was fixated, and truly puzzled by Dave's behavior. Especially when he drew his hands away, parted his knees and folded his arms behind his back. He had an unreadable look bleeding onto his face. 

"God's not gonna help you now. Come get me."


End file.
